Not Superman
by Emiliya Wolfe
Summary: Evan Rosier was many things. Son, brother, Death Eater, Muggle-hater. But he was most certainly not a superman.


'Goodbye, sweetheart,' Evan's mother said, kissing him on his forehead as she smoothed his blond curls.

He permitted her only because he was mildly terrified underneath all the excitement. His father was absent, officially on Rosier business in France, but in fact allowing his son a chance to shine.

His first Death Eater raid.

'Good luck, Evan!'

The clear childish voice immediately banished Evan's worries. He smiled as she raced down the stairs, curls bouncing, and hoisted her up in his arms.

'You're getting a bit big for this now, Lucy,' he told his sister, laughing at the scowl on Lucinda's face.

'No, I'm not!' she complained, giving him her best puppy dog eyes. At five years old, she was the height of adorable. 'Are you coming back to read me a story?'

'You'll be asleep by then, Luce.'

'You never read me anything anymore.' She huffed, her mouth curling into a pout.

'Not true, I read you Babbity—'

'Babbity Rabbity was a whole month ago!'

Evan was saved from answering by the searing pain on his arm. He hissed in pain, shifting Lucinda to one arm. He had heard of the pain flaring up at the call, but hadn't expected it to burn so.

'I've got to go,' he said apologetically, keeping the excitement from his voice as he dropped his sister to the ground. Lucinda would never forgive him if she thought he preferred it to reading her a story.

It was time.

* * *

One hour later, Evan was revelling in his new status.

His Mark burned bright red, the snake reaching out to link the droplets of blood that fell onto his arm. He sent a _Bombarda_ into the frey and was rewarded with a large crack as a building fell. The Muggles ran out, like cattle herded into pens. They weren't his problem though. He wanted them gone, not specifically dead. Running away would do the job just as well.

A blast lifted him off his feet, and he hit the ground rolling, shaking his head to clear it. A shadow of a figure passed across his vision.

 _Alastor Moody_ , he realised, as the dreaded Auror chased after what looked like Dolohov. That blast had probably saved his life. At eighteen years old, he was barely a match for Lestrange, let alone the man who had single-handedly taken down five of their allies.

A cackle sounded from his left, cutting through the noise of burning cars and breaking beams. He rose to his feet — a downed wizard is a dead wizard — just in time to catch a glimpse of Bella chasing one of the Prewetts into a burning building and laughed aloud at the destruction and havoc around him. This was what true power was: to feel the world change by your own hand, your own beliefs. He marvelled at the preciseness of the Dark Lord's reign; while the Muggle half of the village burned, the magical houses remained untouched. Not one drop of magical blood was to be unnecessarily shed, the Dark Lord had said.

And so it was.

Until Evan glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye. A small boy, floating a few inches above one of the thatched roofs. And a burning ball of _Incendio_ heading his way.

Evan reacted instinctively, an image of his baby sister falling off the roof flitting through his mind. She'd bounced off the ground in the end, but he'd always wondered _what if_. Had her magic not kicked in, she would have died.

 _Not one drop of magical blood_.

The words resonated within Evan's mind as he Apparated to the spot. Quickly, he grabbed the yelping boy and jumped off the roof.

' _Arresto Momentum!'_ he yelled, forgetting everything he had learned at Hogwarts about silent casting in his rush. Their descent slowed and their feet softly settled on the ground as if the two wizards were no lighter than a feather. Glancing around, Evan realised that they were in the small gap between the houses that lead around to the back door. It was eerily quiet, the small space secluded enough to feel as though the battle was taking place far, far away.

Evan blinked for a moment, unsure as to what to do with the child. He should bring it back to its parents, but the house had been boarded up during the battle. He could see the shimmer of wards around the back door, the windows dark behind the nailed wooden planks.

'You're just like Superman!' the boy exclaimed enthusiastically, pointing a chubby finger at Evan's chest. It scrutinised Evan's dark robes, a frown of consternation appearing on its face. 'Only you look more like Batman.'

'Superman?' Evan asked, momentarily taken aback. What, or who, was Superman, and why hadn't he heard of him before? And what in the name of Merlin's left buttock was a _bat-man_? Some sort of vampiric hybrid?

'He's like the Muggle Merlin! Only not so old! He saves the world, just like you!'

Evan allowed the words to sink in for a moment, wondering if he had misheard. But the child was staring at him with hero worship in its eyes. Hero worship associated with Muggles.

'Where did you hear this kind of nonsense? Are your parents letting the Muggles pollute you? Don't let them; who knows what kind of diseases their kind carry?' Evan chided the child, aghast. It was bad enough to live _near_ the scum, but actually allowing pureblooded children to _fraternise_ with them? Evan pulled out his wand for good measure.

' _Scourgify._ There,' he said, satisfied as the child's mouth bubbled with soap. He then flicked his wand at one of the window panes, Vanishing it as he gave the child a leg up through the hole. 'I'm not Superman.'

But when the child gleefully spat the soap out and waved goodbye, Evan couldn't help the smug smile from crossing his face. _Save the world indeed._

* * *

QL prompt: Scrubs: Superman — Lazlo Bane (I used the first and last parts of the song)


End file.
